


The Psychologist of Quidditch

by Darkravenwrote



Series: Wizarding Games [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once in his God damned life, Harry would like the win a fucking match!  And even though he's desperate, it's still a bit of a surprise to be welcomed into his office one morning by Draco Malfoy's knowing eyes. And he's proclaiming himself a coach now, is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Psychologist of Quidditch

**Author's Note:**

> Wizarding Games Bingo, week #1
> 
> Prompts: Appleby Arrows, Quaffle, Gryffindor, Fouls & Celebrations

For once in his God damned life, Harry would like the win a fucking match! Is that so much to ask for? Without cheating or fake luck or injuries, he'd like to win an honest game. It'd be be nice to actually get a goal without one of his chasers blatantly haversacking it and thinking they would get away without the foul being called. Ever since he became captain of the Appleby Arrows, it'd been loss after loss after devastating loss.

His team is utter shite, no connection or chemistry between the lot of them, including himself. His beaters couldn't hit the moon if it suddenly fell from the sky. His chasers are too busy arguing to see the quaffle coming from a mile away. His keeper is a fumbling baffoon who can't keep hold of his own broom because he's always so nervous, let alone catch a ball and him, well he's too busy shouting orders and complaints to even think about catching a bloody snitch!

So, even though he's desperate, it's still a bit of a surprise to be welcomed into his office one morning by Draco Malfoy's knowing eyes. And he's proclaiming himself a _coach_ now, is he? Oh, not just some ordinary strategist, no, no. _The Quidditch Psychologist_ , he says, head high like it isn't some cosmic joke on Harry's behalf.

The next month is as torturous as it is wet – which is saying something because Harry has to call off their first five days of practice (that's a whole fucking week lost to start with, right there) due to the fact that no one can see their own hands for water, let alone a ball. Malfoy is smug and barely says anything, just jots into his devil's notebook – waterproof, of fucking course – and stares with his squinty eyes.

And another month later, when their next game is closing in on them – a test match against Tania Flintstone's Gryffindor Graduates ammeter team, which they should win easily but Harry is having serious doubts about – he feels like Malfoy hasn't earned a single sickle he's paid him, let alone the small fortune currently lining his Gringotts account.

Somehow, they win it. Harry, even as the captain, has no bloody clue how, but suddenly they're up by 70 and the snitch is in his line of sight.

That night, while everyone else is celebrating much harder than should be necessary for such a match – where they logically should have outclassed their opponents but struggled none-the-less – Harry offers his hand to Malfoy and they shake, firm and with the promise of further work and more wins.

A year later, they're back in the league – at the bottom but he can't be picky, they're bloody  _in_ okay! - and he's got his tongue shoved down Malfoy's throat while his team enjoy a bit more than butterbeer in the next room. 

He thinks they've made remarkable progress.

And Malfoy is only charging him half with the understanding that he'll be moving in to Grimmauld next week.


End file.
